


Splendid Creature

by mistyzeo



Series: Birthday Ficlets 2014 [20]
Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Birthday Smut, Established Relationship, M/M, Oral Sex, Sleepy Sex, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-06
Updated: 2015-01-06
Packaged: 2018-03-03 23:47:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2892569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mistyzeo/pseuds/mistyzeo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Holmes has tired himself out on a case and wants to go straight to sleep. After an orgasm or two. Watson is more than happy to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Splendid Creature

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Vernets](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vernets/gifts).



> Just a quick note to say that although this is on the whole a lighthearted romp (between the sheets), there are oblique references to body dysphoria and a hysterectomy. But really it's mostly Watson worshipping AFAB Holmes, the end.
> 
> A dual birthday fic, mine and Sherlock Holmes, for B, who wanted "more vaginas in my H fic, thanks."
> 
> Thanks owed to Elly and Jen who always egg me on.

It was a rare night that found Holmes abed before me, but he had exhausted himself on a case in Liverpool and, upon its conclusion and our return home, had turned down supper in favour of changing at once into his nightshirt and crawling between the sheets. I stayed up a bit longer, dined and read our evening post, and finally, with nothing else pressing and the toll of the last week now creeping up on me, I went to join him.

He had left the lamp on for me, burning low, and I turned it down further as I undressed. He stirred as I climbed in behind him.

"You were brilliant," I murmured in his ear, sliding an arm across his narrow waist.

"Mm," he agreed, without opening his eyes. He covered my hand with his and drew it up to press a kiss to my knuckles, and then, after the briefest hesitation, guided it down to cover the swell of his left breast. Never let it be said that John Watson cannot take a hint. I cupped the delightful palmful of flesh through his nightshirt and pressed my lips to the back of his neck.

Holmes shivered, squeezing my hand, and I kissed him again. I kissed the top of his spine, and the sensitive place behind his ear, and brushed my moustache along the line of his pulse. He turned his head, lifting his chin, and I pushed up onto one elbow to nibble at his tender throat.

Holmes shifted and rolled one shoulder back so that I could lean over him and kiss his half-open mouth. He wound an arm around my neck and tangled his long fingers in my hair, tipping and turning me to his satisfaction. His tongue was pliant and sweet against mine, and he moaned in satisfaction when I stroked his stiffened nipple with the pad of my thumb. 

"What's on your mind?" I asked, rubbing back and forth, relishing the shiver that rippled through him.

His eyes fluttered open and he smiled languidly at me. "Whatever you fancy," he said. "But I'm afraid I am a bit..."

"I seem to remember you doing most of the heavy lifting last time," said I, kissing the corner of his jaw. A week ago, before the latest case, he had rogered me into near insensibility. The thought of it made my heart race and my prick harden. Sherlock Holmes has some considerable power in his hips. 

Holmes laughed and drew me down for another kiss. "Well then, Doctor, go to."

I moved my hand to the modest swell of his other breast and began to pinch and massage in much the same fashion I had treated the first, at the same time applying my lips to the slope of his neck and shoulder that was bared by the open collar of his nightshirt. His eyes slid closed again and he lay still, but one could not mistake his stillness for sleep. He was trembling minutely, his hips shifting beneath the quilt, and his fingers moved slowly in my hair. 

I let go of his breast and worked my way under the quilts to find the hem of his nightshirt. He shifted his hips as I pulled it up and lifted one knee, parting his thighs for my wandering hand. He was wet already, and my fingers slid easily along his sex. I slipped one digit inside, to the second knuckle, and he tensed around me. He let his breath out on a soft, "Oh!" when I began to piston my finger shallowly in and out.

I nipped his shoulder and pressed my prick against the swell of his buttock. He rumbled a laugh and arched back against me, so I slid my finger out again and eased my slick knuckle against the centre of his pleasure. His hand tightened in my hair as I rubbed the stiff, tender bud in a slow circle.

"John," he murmured.

I eased two fingers back inside him and applied my thumb to his clit now, always gentle, always gauging his reactions. His body was, at times, a source of some annoyance or frustration to him, but I always wanted him to have all the enjoyment of it that I could give him. It was transport, he insisted, nothing more than a carriage for his mind, but I loved the way he melted under my hands. As much as I loved and admired his great brain, it was satisfying to take him out of his head sometimes and remind him that the flesh, in whatever form, deserved attention.

There wasn't enough room between his thighs to really do the work I wished to do, so I gave the back of of Holmes's neck one last kiss and sat up. I left my hand where it was. Holmes bit his lip and looked over his shoulder at me, curious. He was trying to deduce my intentions, but even I didn't know what they yet were.

They came to me, though, as I knelt at his hip and contemplated an old scar on his knee, the pale, strong length of his thigh, and the soft crinkle of hair against my knuckles.

Holmes let out a breath and said, "Yes, please," turning his face back into the pillows.

I shifted, sliding my fingers out of him to skate them up the inside of his thigh instead, pushing his leg up and at the same time scooting down to prop myself on my elbow. Now I was lying the wrong way in the bed, my head and shoulders between Holmes's knees and my hips the level of his ribs. I pushed his nightshirt up further, baring his hips and arse, and he hooked his knee in the crook of my upper hand.

His thigh was soft under my lips, the muscles tensing as I kissed my way from knee to groin. Holmes's hand found my head again and his fingers carded through my hair, affection and encouragement all at once. I lowered my head to rest upon his other thigh and he placed the heel of his foot carefully on my good shoulder.

"Perfect," I murmured, giving the arch of his foot a tap of approval, and he braced against me, holding himself open for my exploration. I wrapped my arm around his thigh and caressed his soft belly, and then with my fingers parted the outer lips of his sex. He gleamed with arousal, and his clit was swollen and exposed. In my less (or perhaps more) lucid moments I thought of it like the head of his prick, uncovered and sensitive and so lovely to lick. "What a view," I said, before I could stop myself.

"Jesus," Holmes groaned, embarrassed, but his toes curled on my shoulder and his hand stayed where it was on the crown of my head. He glanced down at me and at once looked away again, covering his face with his other hand. "John."

I laughed and bent my head, and the first taste of his desire made me moan. My cock jerked in anticipation. I licked him slowly at first, warming him up, teasing his clit with broad strokes of my tongue. He squirmed, heel pressing into my shoulder as he tried to spread his legs further. I could have turned him onto his back to get deeper, but something about the constriction of movement made my gut tighten with wanting. I loved to feel him in just the littlest bit of distress, eager for more and relying on me to give it.

I began to focus my caresses, pointing my tongue and working it in little circles around his clit, then flattening out to lick his lips as well. He was hissing through his teeth, keeping his moans in check. I wanted to hear more, but there was no way to stimulate or encourage him further: my left arm was trapped, unable to reach anything but the middle of his spine, while my right hand held him open for my mouth.

He tasted fantastic. He quite forgot about carnal delights while he was working, but I certainly didn't, and being at his side at the miraculous conclusion of a case made me want him all the more. I was hungry for him and I tried to show it, licking and probing and rubbing, feeling him arch and wriggle. I could feel him tensing and then deliberately relaxing, trying to make himself last. A few more minutes of this and he'd be shaking to pieces, but I wanted, selfishly, to come with him. I'd never yet made him come twice in a row— it took us nearly a year of our affair for him to experience a single orgasm, and that glorious moment I will never forget— but it was one of my private goals.

But he was tired and I was tingling all over and perhaps I'd save it for next time.

I gave him one last swirl of the tongue and pulled away. Holmes groaned in disappointment.

"Do you want me to finish it like this?" I asked. My lips and chin were wet, and my hands shook.

"No," he said quickly, stroking my hair, "no, God, that's lovely, but I'd like— can you get inside me, please, before I absolutely die?"

"You won't die," I laughed, easing his foot off my shoulder and sitting up again. I wiped my mouth and bent to kiss his cheek and he turned to kiss me deeply, tasting himself on my tongue. I moaned and heard him echo it, and then he started to roll onto his back.

"Wait," I said, stopping him with a hand on his hip. He blinked up at me, panting, flushed and damp with sweat. I shifted on the bed once more, lifting his top leg to my shoulder again, but this time I was kneeling astride his lower one. My hips were perpendicular to his, my bollocks brushing his inner thigh. I licked two fingers and slid them inside him, and he followed suit and applied his tongue to the palm of his hand. I groaned when his fingers closed around me; for a moment we mimicked the act we were about to perform. Then he let go and took hold of my hip instead. 

"Now, John," said he.

I obliged, guiding my shining tip against his wet entrance, but couldn't help pausing to tease him just a little longer, dipping in and out, watching the way his lips parted hungrily for me. He bared his teeth at me and pulled, and I sank into his slick heat.

"Holmes," I groaned. He arched his neck, tossing his head on the pillow, and let out a luxurious groan as I pushed in deeper.

"By Jove, that's nice," he whispered, reaching to grip my buttock.

I pressed my cheek against his calf, ruffling the hair the wrong way, and nibbled his ankle. Holmes grunted, flexing his foot behind my head. I bit down on his medial malleolus and eased my hips back. He had to let go of me, so he gave in to my gentle direction and gripped the pillows instead and braced himself against the headboard. His hair was all sticking up on one side and I could only see one blushing cheek. His nightshirt was still pooled around his middle, but now I could reach underneath it and get a hand on one of his breasts again. I used my other arm wrapped around his thigh for leverage as I began to rock my hips into him.

He was going tense again, flexing deliciously around me, and I tried to slow down to draw it out but he flailed out a hand for me and gasped, "John, I'm—"

I slipped a hand between his legs again and found his clit, and at once he arched hard and his whole body went rigid as the orgasm rippled through him. He shook and clasped my wrist and muffled his moans in the pillow, until finally he relaxed and I eased my thumb away.

"Don't stop," he said, letting go of my wrist to urge my hips on.

"Are you sure?" I asked. I was trembling, hard and so deep inside him and aching to have my own pleasure.

Holmes opened his eyes and turned his head to look at me directly. His eyes were wide and dark in the low light. "Yes," he said, giving my hip a squeeze. "Something feels— this particular arrangement—"

"Oh, you like this position, do you?" I teased, catching on. I spread my knees a little, sinking lower, and began to roll my hips slowly, fucking him in long, deep thrusts. His passage still fluttered around me. Holmes moaned and the leg hooked over my shoulder tightened to bring me closer. I couldn't quite reach to put one hand down on the bed, but I leaned into him all the same and he yelped and let go of me to touch himself instead. Maybe I'd get my wish tonight after all.

I was too close myself, my climax already building, and the sight of him working himself towards a second orgasm threatened to bring me off before he could even get there. But now I was consumed with the need to make it happen so I sped up my thrusts, working my hips harder and faster. His pace was frantic, and his fingers between his legs kept brushing against me as well. I was sweating with the effort, drowning gladly in the smell of his desire, the taut heat of his body, and eternally grateful for the faded, transverse scar on his abdomen that meant I didn't have to hold myself back.

"God," Holmes gasped, "oh, God, John."

"I'm with you," I said, pushing deep, fucking him with everything I had, "Come on, Sherlock, I'm there—"

Holmes swore aloud and his whole body shuddered as he reached a second peak. My own orgasm swept through me at once, and I trembled with pleasure and elation, pulsing inside him, forcing myself to keep my eyes open so that I could watch his face. He looked like he'd just had a revelation about a case (which was why I had such trouble containing myself at scenes of crimes), his eyes shut tight and his mouth open in surprise. Holmes swore again, shivering, and dropped his hand to the bed with a sigh. I sat back on my heels, still breathing hard, aftershocks darting up my legs.

Holmes was silent as I pulled out and found a flannel to wipe us both clean. I lay his leg down carefully upon the other and rearranged his nightshirt.

"All right?" I asked, as I turned out the lamp and climbed back in behind him. Before I could replace the quilts he surged into motion, turning over to face me.

"John," he said, looking earnestly into my face. His cheeks were still warm under the backs of my fingers and his hair in a state of wild, charming disarray that I only made worse. "You—"

"I know," I sighed, grinning. "I am magnificent. You don't have to say it."

"You're a cock," he laughed, and pressed his lips to mine. I cradled him against me, returning each kiss he gave me with a deeper, sweeter one. We might have almost had another go if it hadn't been so late. I couldn't help my smugness, and Holmes could tell. He found my right nipple without even trying and gave it a pinch, as if that would discourage me at all.

Against his mouth I whispered, "I love you, you splendid creature."

"You don't give yourself enough credit," he replied, tracing the contours of my face. "That brain of yours…"

"I don't think the _Strand_ wants to hear about _my_ moments of genius," I said.

I could feel Holmes smile in the dark. "Well, I'll keep them to myself then," said he.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Splendid Creature [Podfic]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10546458) by [RickyPulsifer (fuckthisimgoingtoerebor)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuckthisimgoingtoerebor/pseuds/RickyPulsifer), [the_dragongirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_dragongirl/pseuds/the_dragongirl)




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